


Interludes

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-08-14 03:19:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7996681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fluffy, sometimes smutty short Rumbelle fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold gets to share Belle's enjoyment of her new favorite, shockingly explicit song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this is what happens when one of my favorite singers releases an extremely catchy song with lyrics so explicit I'm somewhat afraid to accidentally sing them out loud in public at an unguarded moment :P
> 
> Lyrics and inspiration: Down daddy down by Anouk.

Mr. Gold's heart flutters in his chest when he makes his way into the park, spotting Belle French exactly where he hoped that she would be. He is very much aware how inappropriate it is for him to seek out her presence like this, telling himself that he isn't actually stalking her for as long as he keeps his distance and doesn't look at her too often.

He sits down on one of the benches in the park, the one which isn't all that close to hers but which provides a good view on her regardless... which he is intent on ignoring for at least most of the time.

But no matter how much he tries, he can't focus on the paper he brought in the hope of coming across as a businessman enjoying the nice weather rather than secretly admiring the woman he has fallen in love with... the woman who is too good for him to the extent that he makes certain not to ever be even in the same room as her.

But here, out in the open, the landlord tells himself that he can take in her radiance and loveliness from a safe distance, just as long as she'll never find out.

He raises his paper again, knowing that he'll have to be extra careful today. It's an unusually warm summer day, causing most of the citizens to spend their Saturday afternoon at the docks rather than in the park. Worse yet, the skirt she wears is yet shorter than usual.

Mercifully oblivious to how the complete lack of people around them in the usually crowded park and her almost entirely exposed legs affect him, Belle throws her hair back to put her earphones in before all but burying her face in her book again.

As if that sight isn't making his blood boil in its own right, she starts to hum along with the song she's listening to. The way she tends to absent-mindedly sing along with songs as she reads – none too softly and entirely off-key without exception – is one of the many things about her that he loves so much more than he should.

_I'm about to burn, I've got the fire all over me_ _  
_ _And it's alarming how fast it brings you to your knees_

As if all of that isn't bad enough yet, it turns out that the song she's singing along with today doesn't seem nearly as innocent as her usual selections. Heat rising within him which has nothing to do with the bright sunlight, Mr. Gold discreetly loosens his tie.

_I see them big brown eyes crawling over me_  
_You sure love my legs and what is in between_

The words are carried to him by the gentle summer breeze, caressing his flushed skin. His paper lowered and entirely forgotten, the landlord openly stares at the stunning librarian after all, barely able to believe what he's hearing.

_Spare me the eyes when you're eating me alive_ _  
_ _Just open that mouth and give that tongue some exercise_

His treacherous mind finds it all too easy to accept that Belle is thinking along these lines, let alone say such things aloud. Indeed, in his mind's eye she's speaking like this directly to _him_ , telling him to...

_Down daddy down_  
_Daddy daddy down down_  
_Go down_

Mr. Gold may be a painfully old-fashioned man who has little knowledge of language like this – or the entire topic these particular words describes, for that matter – but he's heard enough conversations of rowdy teenagers at Granny's diner to understand in general terms what the woman of his dreams is singing about.

And yet, surely this can't possibly be going where it very much appears to be going...

_On me_

His heart racing and perspiration breaking out over his body, the landlord clings to his cane for all he is worth, to anchor himself. His body is joining the mutiny of his mind, reacting to her words in all the ways it shouldn't.

Belle is no longer reading, instead staring off into the distance with a dreamy expression on her face. He can't help but wonder whether she's reminiscing, whether this song reminds her of someone who had the privilege of doing this for her... whether she dreams of someone who hasn't yet performed this act on her, but whom she very much wants to do so.

_Talk dirty to me_ _  
_ _I'll tell you how I want it_

Despite himself, he whimpers at those words, his mind as eager to provide a variety of explicit images of Belle and himself in such a situation as his body is to react to them. His cane falls from his suddenly numb hands, clattering loudly against the park bench he's sitting on.

"Hello, Mr. Gold," she cheerfully says, as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on, her attention drawn to the noise over the sound of her music.

With a movement so gracious that whole books ought to be written about it, she removes the earphones and waves at him as if she's glad to see him. For some reason, her smile is yet brighter than the sun.

"Miss French," he acknowledges her greeting, resting his hands as casually as he can in his lap rather than waving back at her.

"Did I disturb you? I was singing out loud again, wasn't I? I know I probably shouldn't do that in public, but..."

"You didn't disturb me at all," he quickly reassures her when her voice falters. "You are free to do whatever you want, of course."

"Am I now?" she asks, her expression turning mischievous in a way that he shouldn't like nearly as much as he does, especially not right now. "In that case..."

As if it's only normal for her to do so, she gathers her belongings, stands up and makes his way towards him.

"Just this morning, Ruby recommended this _amazing_ song to me. You might also enjoy it... the original version, I mean, not the way I sing it. We can listen to it together on my phone, if you like..."

Unable to focus on anything but her swaying hips and almost entirely bare legs, Mr. Gold is oblivious to Belle's excited and knowing smile when she settles herself at his side and offers him one of her earpieces.


	2. Held up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold gets the shock of a lifetime when he participates in a safety course.

Reminding himself that he can't keep lingering at the toilet facilities much longer without his absence becoming noticeable, Gold finishes meticulously washing his hands. Mentally bracing himself for the lunch and the related expected pleasantries which are to come, he wishes that he were anywhere rather than at this safety course.

So far, the first day of the course is exactly as awful as he feared it would be. Any illusions that he isn't any longer the coward he used to be are gone now that the course forces him to participate in role plays on topics such as kidnapping and extortion.

He has never felt older, less physically capable and less fit either, with all other attendants being without exceptions half his age and twice his size.

Gold can't even find solace in the thought that his shareholders are only coercing him to go here to toy with him, claiming that they don't feel secure investing millions of dollars in his company if he doesn't have at least some basic exercise in physical self-preservation.

Now that his net worth has risen so much in the past few years, his son insisted as well that he should take more precautions to keep himself safe, this course being one of them. His shareholders Gold may be very willing to refuse, but his boy is a different matter entirely.

At least Belle French, the teacher of the training, isn't nearly as bad as it could have been - quite the opposite. Her natural authority goes hand in hand with an empathy and kindness which is rare in anyone, let alone in someone in her field.

In fact, the whole prospect of an hour long lunch with his fellow participants is more bearable at the chance that he might get a seat near to hers. That way, he can have a conversation with her which for once hopefully doesn't involve guns or other threats of violence.

Best not to linger here too long after all, lest someone else - or all of them - get the same idea. Still, his arrival is difficult to time, for she for some reason asked half of the group of participants to stay behind in the conference room before leaving for lunch, and...

" _HANDS UP!"_

Freezing entirely as he quakes in fear now that someone has sneaked up on him and is yelling at him like this, Gold looks up in horror, the cold water still rushing down his hands.

Doing so, he finds that he can't see his assailant in the mirror right in front of him… but he very much _can_ see the gun which is mere inches away from his head.

He may have had four hours of lessons solely dedicated to teaching him how to deal with exactly this kind of situation only just this morning, but all he can do is shake with terror before the world goes black around him.

*

"Mr. Gold? Are you all right? Mr. Gold?!"

Despite the insistent voice, the businessman in question doesn't want to wake up quite yet. He's strangely warm and more comfortable he has ever been, as if he's lost in a strange but very pleasant dream, and he doesn't want that to end.

But then he recalls what happened, what he saw before he fainted. He sits up abruptly, looking around with wide, panicked eyes. There's no sign of danger however; he's still in the bathroom where he was before, accompanied by no one except for Belle French.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, tentatively reaching for him. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm quite shaken, Miss French, and I've got no idea what is going on," he says, not adding that he feels yet more confused now that it turns out that they're next to each other on the bathroom floor… that his head is practically in her lap and that her arms are around him.

"The exercise got out of hand. Remember when I asked half the group to stay behind before lunch? I asked each of them to take a fake weapon and pick someone from the other half of the group to… well, to put the theory of what we learned this morning into practice. Since there's an odd number of participants, I chose you myself."

"So this was… an exercise," he concludes, finally making sense of all this. "One I terribly failed."

"If anything, _I_ failed, Mr. Gold. I figured it would be best to do this at a somewhat private location, but… this was probably the place in the entire building where you're least on guard. I should have known better; I could tell how tense you were during the actual course."

"It's not your fault, Miss French. You can't help it that I'm such a…"

"Such a what?" she asks when he falters, her genuine concern and kindness making it somehow impossible to make a self-depreciative remark.

"At least you appear to have caught me," he says, purposefully changing the subject as it dawns on him that his body doesn't hurt at all, despite his fainting spell.

"I did, yes. Luckily I'm not only a certified teacher, but a qualified bodyguard as well, and I've got quite some training in first aid."

Although those achievements are impressive indeed, the inspiration of the wild idea that wells up inside of him has mostly to do with her two arms, which are still wrapped almost protectively around him.

"Miss French, would you consider working for me in the second capacity you just mentioned?"

"You're asking me to be your bodyguard?!"

"I am, yes."

"I… that's an intriguing offer. Still, I'd like a few days to think this over, and..."

"Take as much time as you need. If it helps, I can assure you that money won't be an issue."

"That's very generous of you, but to me it would be most important to get to know you better first.'

"I… that is no objection either, Miss French," he says, wondering if he bumped his head against the floor after all when he finds himself positively light-headed at this development. "None at all."

"Maybe we can start by having dinner together? Tonight for example, after the course?"

"Sounds perfect," he replies, the rest of his day looking a lot, lot brighter than it did before.

Both his shareholders and his son should be entirely reassured for him to have Belle French at his side as a bodyguard from now on. With some luck, they never need know that he'd rather take a bullet for her than let her take one for him.


	3. Polished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle gets a highly unexpected patron when painting nails to support the library.

Belle's appreciation of the good turnout for the charity event in and for the library halts when she lays eyes on the next person in the queue in front of her. She doesn't necessarily not expect men to show up to have their nails painted by her… it's just that she didn't expect the solitary pawnbroker to be one of them.

Not to mention that the fluttering in her belly when she usually sees him, which increase tenfold now that he's right in front of her, are rather distracting.

"Mr. Gold! It's such a surprise to see you here."

"Indeed."

He looks badly at ease, which is doubtlessly caused by the snickering of the other people who have turned up to support the library - or perhaps because of the way she's looking at him probably far too eagerly.

"I'm here to support your cause," he says, withdrawing a number of bills from his wallet and putting them in the donation box ,which has her staring at him in disbelief.

"That's very generous of you, Mr. Gold. Thank you so much. I greatly appreciate this."

She is convinced that he won't actually sit down opposite her and ask her to do his nails, but it turns out that this is exactly what he does. The pawnbroker extends his hands to her, wordlessly encouraging her to paint his nails as she has been doing all morning for less surprising people.

"What color would you like?" she asks, not entirely succeeding to keep a tremble out of her voice.

She gestures at the dozen or so bottles on the table as she tries to ignore the open laughter of the people surrounding them, since he appears to do the same thing.

"I'll leave that choice to you, Miss French."

There isn't a single color which _wouldn't_ seem out of place on his neat and short-cut fingernails, so she supposes she might as well go all out.

"How about this one?" she asks, gesturing at the gold glitter sample.

"An excellent choice," he says without hesitation.

Almost giddy with the prospect of what she's going to do, Belle tentatively takes his hand in her own and readies herself to apply the nail polish. One more glance at his face tells her that he has no second thoughts; if anything, he seems less tense now that she has accepted his request.

Taking one of his hands carefully in her own to keep it steady as she moves the gold glitter brush carefully over his nails, she finds that his palm and fingers are surprisingly soft and warm… exactly as lovely to hold as she suspected they would be.

Momentarily taking her attention away from him to glare at the giggling people who are taking pictures of the scene, she wonders why on earth he's doing this. She can't think of a single reason.

And yet, he's here, letting her taking her time, savoring their nearness. His expression is almost as unreadable as always, but there appears to be something like hope vaguely visible there now.

As she meticulously does the nails of his other hand, she wonders how many - or rather, how few - people touch him like this in his daily life, concluding that she can't think of any at all. Indeed, maybe this is the only occasion he has been touched by another person in a considerable time.

Maybe he thinks this is the only way someone is willing to touch him at all.

Before she can further process that notion or even enjoy being with Mr. Gold like this for a little longer, she's already done with her work. There's no reason for them to stay like this, especially not because of the ever growing queue of people behind him who also want to have their nails polished – or simply gawk at him and his by now brightly colored nails.

"You shouldn't touch anything until that's dried," she barely gets the chance to say.

With a short nod of his head, the pawnbroker and his glittery golden nails are gone, almost as if he has never been there. She's becoming rather grateful for all the pictures that are taken; surely she can persuade someone to share a picture of Mr. Gold and her while they for all intends and purposes are holding hands.

*

Exhausted but very pleased, Belle is counting the donations which she received after more than ten hours of doing people's nails now that everyone is gone. Still, rather than on the new books which she'll be able to acquire for the library now, her thoughts are with Mr. Gold.

"Miss French?"

"Mr. Gold!" she exclaims, pleasantly surprised to see him entering the by now quiet library.

"I hope I'm not disturbing?"

"Of course not, no! Please come in."

"Thank you. I was wondering… would you perhaps like another donation for the library?"

"The revenue so far surpasses my wildest expectations, which is to a large extent to you. I couldn't possibly ask for more."

"You don't have to ask, Miss French. I'm offering. Gladly so."

"Well, in that case…"

She falters, noticing that his nails are remarkably void of color and that he's smelling vaguely of nail polish remover. She can't help but be a little disappointment that he has gotten rid of the evidence of their time together. Still, given the glittery appearance of it she can hardly blame him.

"If you are so inclined, I also would like to request…"

He pauses, but the way he wiggles his fingers leaves no doubt about what he's asking her.

"Of course, I'd love to," she says, trying to contain her enthusiasm. "Please, sit down. Which color would you like this time?"

"I think that blue is more my color - blue with glitter, of course."

"Of course," she echoes, wondering whether he knows that this shade of blue is almost exactly the same as her eyes.

"Your hand please?"

This time, she dares to take her time with him as she paints his nails bright blue one after another… and to rub the back of his hand a little with her fingers when he closes his eyes in unmistakable enjoyment.

The additional contact has him groaning quietly in a way which sends heat all throughout her – only for her to realize at that point that she has no more nails of his left to paint. Still, she holds on to his hand, continuing to touch it in a way she never thought she would.

"Miss French, I was wondering…" he begins, his voice wonderfully hoarse. "Perhaps you would do me the honor of letting me do your nails as well? I obviously won't be very good at it, but I can assure you that I'll do my very best to…"

She shivers deliciously at the prospect of this, at the fact that this is about the Mr. Gold equivalent of propositioning her. Only when she has already offered him her hand, she realizes that her nails are already perfectly done and that she doesn't have any polish remover with her.

"I'd love for you to do that, but it'll have to wait until this polish is gone."

His shoulders sag and he lowers his eyes as he realizes this as well, and he moves to withdraw his hands.

"Still, there's no reason why we can't continue sitting like this for a while longer, don't you agree?" she say softly, grasping his hands in her own. "Besides, we aren't entirely done yet; your polish hasn't dried yet."

Bringing his fingers closer to her mouth, Belle lightly blows against them, maintaining eye contact with him during the whole duration of the not entirely functional action. The look in his eyes makes it seem like she is doing something far more intimate than something as innocent as this, which makes her only more eager to actually do something along those lines with him.

Without saying a word, the pawnbroker takes a gentle hold on her own hands eventually, caressing them lightly and entwining them with his own. Belle watches him breathlessly, slowly starting to see that perhaps her feelings for him haven't been so one-sided after all.

She gasps when he brings her right hand to his lips and lightly presses them against her flushed skin, like a knight kissing his lady's hand. She has always suspected the pawnbroker to be very chivalrous, but she never in a million years expected herself to be the very lucky recipient of it.

Now that she is, Belle savors it for all she is worth… although she does see that the pawnbroker is never going to kiss more than her hands on his own accord. That's why she gentle untangles her hand from his and brings it to his face, lifting his chin.

Standing up to reach over the table, she questioningly leans in to him, inwardly squealing when he nods and closes his eyes. Their kiss is little more than a brush of lips, yet lighter and more tentative than the contact which their hands just shared, but to Belle it's perfect regardless.

Given the way Mr. Gold sighs against her lips before withdrawing slightly to stare into her eyes with longing of which she can't believe that she's never noticed it there before, he feels exactly the same way.

"Your eyes… my favorite color in the world," he mutters, cupping her cheeks delicately between his palms.

"Just so you know... next time you want to kiss me, you don't have to have your nails done," she murmurs, now that they've gotten to this point wanting him to know exactly how she feels about him "I'd be _very_ happy for you to just kiss me whenever you like."

"In that case, if I may…" he breathes, moving his face towards hers again.

"Very much so," she whispers back, beating him to it.


	4. Paradise

Rumple startles when footsteps are approaching his apparently not all that seclusive spot. Before he can wipe away the tears that are rolling down his face, he's joined by the main reasons of his sorrow.

"There you are, Rumple. Why aren't you with the others at the farewell dinner?"

He's only more eager to hide his sadness when Belle sits down next to him on the wooden bench outside the restaurant where the rest of the group, his son included, is gathered for dinner.

"What's wrong?" she cries out as soon as she sees his face.

He helplessly looks at her, unable to explain himself. After all, how can mere words possibly convey how much the past week has meant to him... how much _she_ has grown to mean to him in those seven heavenly days?

"Come here, you sweet man," she says when he makes no move to answer her question, scooting closer to him.

Just like that, he is touched for the first time by the woman he has admired – indeed, secretly _worshiped_ – in the seven days he has been privileged to know her.

He was both envious and accepting that she would never touch the likes of _him_ whenever she casually embraced someone else from their group, which she frequently did. He stayed away from her though, if only because there's no doubt that he would enjoy being hugged by her far more than he should.

It's for the best, really. It took him almost an entire week to find the courage to finally address her with her first name, like she'd encouraged him to do from the very first day.

But here they are, her loving arms around him and his undeserving face pressed wetly against the side of her neck. He shivers when she caresses his back patiently and whispers soothing words in his ears, closing his eyes tightly in an attempt to commit all of this to memory before it unavoidably ends – and probably badly so.

"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, of course not. But I'd be very happy to listen to you and help you if I can. There's something I want to tell you as well, but it can wait."

"It's nothing," he sniffles in the warm, safe darkness of her embrace, clinging to her.

"I think we both know that isn't true," she replies, tightening her hold on him.

"You'll laugh," he says, failing to muster the harshness he was aiming for in his desperate attempt to challenge her to leave him alone.

"I can only hope that I've never given you the impression that I would react like that to anyone."

"Still, it's _stupid_ ," he mutters, only more upset with himself for reacting like this.

"I highly doubt it."

Her hand moves to his hair, leaving him shivering when she strokes his tresses, too long and still somewhat shaggy despite the long, daily baths he has enjoyed in the past week.

"It's just that..." he finds himself saying despite himself. "The last week, it was... it was _so good_. I don't want it to end. I... I don't know how to get back to my normal life. I don't know if I _can._ "

It's shockingly easy to talk like this, to open up to her while he's held by her like this. Still, he knows better than to mention that it has taken Neal and himself almost two years to scrape enough money together to be able to afford the low budget bus trip that Belle guided... that for the first time since he could remember there seemed to be a point in living when Neal simply flourished during the adventure.

His son however wasn't the only one who practically shone when they traveled to places neither of them could have dreamed of. The hotel, with its running warm water, all included meals and comfortable beds, reminded him what it was like to live rather than survive... and so did the group of people they were part of for the duration of the trip.

For a reason that's still a mystery to Rumple, most people in the group took an immediately liking not only to Neal, but also to _him_ , the man who was nothing but a coward and a nuisance in the village where he struggles from one day to another.

Somehow, the mainly elderly people genuinely enjoyed his company, even appreciated his help which he was more than willing to offer time and time again now that it was welcomed so much.

Although he knows painfully well that it won't go on forever, Rumple couldn't help but wish that it _did_. After all, he would be a very happy man indeed if he could swap the meager existence of his son and himself for traveling the country of which they both had previously seen no more than their own village.

Still, he knows only too well that seeing castles, forests, mountains, the sea and all sorts of wonderful towns is less than half of the magic of the past seven days of heaven. No matter how very lovely the other travelers were as well, there's nothing and no-one which Rumple appreciated as much as Belle herself.

Falling in love with the gentle and _beautiful_ guide annex bus driver was the stupidest thing he could have done. But here he is, pathetic and desperate and very much in love, trembling in her arms.

It doesn't surprise him in the slightest that the silence between them lengthens, that she doesn't reply now that he has told her like the fool he is that he doesn't want to go back to his regular life.

"After a particularly nice holiday, I think there are a lot of people who feel reluctant about returning to their regular life," she says eventually, caressing his arm in a way that shouldn't leave him trembling the way it does. "But sometimes... I wouldn't claim that I believe in fairy tales, but I do believe that a holiday sometimes can be the start of something wonderful."

"What do you mean?" he sniffles, for the first time not understanding what she's saying.

"I don't dare to assume that the offer I am going to make you will make you feel better, but I have the feeling that it might do just that."

"What offer?" he brings out, only more confused.

"Rumple, let me first tell you again how _amazing_ you were with the people in the group. I dare to say that all of them took a liking to you. You definitely made my job a lot easier by helping them as much as you did. I don't _mind_ to help people who are less mobile and who forgot where they put their hotel keys and passports, and so on, but... with almost fifty people in the group that can get difficult."

"It was no trouble at all," he shrugs, not understanding why she's telling him this.

"I found myself thinking how lovely it would be if you could join me on other trips."

"I would love that as well," he says, both delighted by her words and saddened yet further because he knows only too well that he _can't_. "But that isn't possible. This trip... I'm not proud to say it, but I had to save money for a long time to pay for it. To go on another... I don't think we can afford it for at least two more years."

"I'm not asking you to join me as a passenger... I'm asking you to join as an _employee_."

"You're... you're offering me a _job_?!"

"Yes. My boss has been talking about how we would like to offer trips specifically for the older demographic and have someone travel with us who can focus exclusively on looking after them. So I said that I know someone who would be perfect and after she looked at the surveys you and the others filled in this afternoon, she was convinced. Did you know that more than half of all passengers named you and your son specifically as something they appreciated during this trip?!"

Rumple closes his eyes, instinctively leaning in yet closer to her. He doesn't answer her question, is unable to process the fact that the people liked Neal and him _this_ much, let alone tell her how much this means to him.

After all, it's difficult enough as it is to even _imagine_ how wonderful it would be to make more trips with her. Not just one trip, but many more. It would be the most wonderful thing that could happen to him, but... he _can't_.

"I'd love to have that job, Belle," he rasps, looking at her with pleading eyes, "I would _love_ to. But I can't. My son... I can't leave him behind. There's no one else to look after him, and even if there would be... I can't be separated from him so often and for so long. I just can't."

"I'm so sorry, I should have made the offer clearer," she says, placing his hand on his arm in a way that makes it yet more impossible to think clearly. "You can bring Neal, for as far as we're concerned. We're going to have to figure out a legal way to enable a twelve year old boy to be on the bus several months a year, to make certain his education doesn't suffer, but I'm certain we'll find a solution. But only if you _want_ to, of course!"

"I do," he brings out, staring at her in disbelief and complete gratitude alike. "I _do_. I... I don't understand why you would want _me_ for the job, but if you would truly like to offer it to me... it would mean the world to me, Belle. You'd make me the happiest man on earth."

He didn't mean to... babble the way he does, but he can't help it... not with her so near to him, bringing out things in him he had no idea he even was capable of.

Belle _squeals_ in response to his seemingly senseless chatter _,_ almost as if his acceptance of the job makes her the happiest woman on earth, right along with him. Before he knows it, she has thrown her arms around him and holds him tightly.

Right there and then he knows that no matter what beautiful places he might find under her guidance, none of them will be as wonderful as _this_ , warm and soft and _safe_.

"I'll give you some time to properly think about the offer," she says, still holding on to him. "There are other things to consider as well. For example, you'll have to do the official training, get the required certificates... but I bet those courses can teach you very little you don't already know. But for now..."

Any disappointment that she lets go of him is gone when she smiles broadly at him and offers him her hand when she has stood up.

"Let's get back to the others at the restaurant," she says while she helps him get on his feet. "I bet they would love to see you before they go home."

"They would definitely like to see _you_ ," he says shyly, thrilled that she continues to hold on to his hand while he follows her.

Saying goodbye to his fellow passengers will be a lot more bearable now that he knows that this will be far from the last time after all that he has seen Belle... that the end of this holiday will only be the beginning of his life with her.


	5. At display

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting a museum, Belle encounters a Scottish guide more intriguing than any of the art.

Belle French wanders through the museum in a state of bliss, her senses overwhelmed with the beauty of all the displayed works of art. For years, she has dreamed of actually seeing them herself, and now she finally does.

She always expected that nothing could distract her from the incredible paintings and sculptures, but she keeps bumping into the same large group just about everywhere she goes. It would have annoyed her if it weren't for the very well dressed, lithe and wiry Scotsman with a delicious brogue who guides them.

Rather than avoiding them, Belle finds herself trailing behind the group in order both to get a better look at the aesthetically pleasing guide and to hear more of his narration, which is much more interesting - and mischievous - than the official signs and descriptions.

She clearly isn't the only one who is rather intrigued by the handsome and witty guide. There's a tall, redheaded woman in his group who gets closer and closer to him. When the group approaches a rather risque and very stunning sculpture of an intimate embrace between a man and a woman, she steps right into his personal space.

"My, what a delicious sight," the woman purrs, brushing against him none too subtly.

He visibly tenses at her approach, but that doesn't deter her from trailing her hand down his back and squeezing his rear.

The eloquent guide freezes and gasps in horror, yet she still keeps her hand right where it is. None of the other people in the group notice or seem to care. Not wanting him to go through this for one more second, Belle heads into the group from the side, making certain that he sees her approach.

"It's such a delight to see you!" she exclaims, looking at the guide intently in the hope that he realizes that she's only pretending to know him, in an attempt to get the woman away from him.

"Indeed," he says rather faintly, stepping away from the woman from his group, who seems too bewildered to stop him. "Such a lovely surprise. Would you like to join us for the rest of the tour?"

She's close enough to him by now to read the name tag pinned on his suit jacket: Dr. R. Gold

"That would be wonderful," she beams, genuinely delighted and surprised by the chance to actually participate in the tour.

As they continue their way through the museum, the tall woman keeps trying to get close to Dr. Gold. But Belle prevents her from doing so every single time, using her own body as a shield. This mostly prevents her from looking properly at the art, but she finds that the guide himself is at least as fascinating.

When they reach another hall, he opens the door for her and gestures for her to go through first. She happily does so, marveling at his chivalry, especially so when his hand hovers questioningly at the small of her back.

She nods in encouragement, shivering pleasantly when he places his palm there and applies the gentlest of pressure to guide her into the right direction in the hall.

He removes his hand as soon as this is done, much to her disappointment, especially when he announces the end of the tour almost immediately afterwards. His group scatters and even the tall woman disappears quickly after casting one last, hostile glance at Belle.

"Thank you so much," he murmurs, his voice and gaze a lot softer now that the tour is over and it's just the two of them. "I greatly appreciate what you did for me."

"I'm just glad I could help, and that I got to join the tour. It's only a pity that it ended so soon. You're a very good story teller, Dr. Gold, and you obviously also know very much about art and history."

"Thank you for your kind words, Miss…"

"French. Belle French."

"I'm very glad that you enjoyed the remainder of the tour. If you wish to see the first part of it, and more… I've got no more tours scheduled for this afternoon. I could… accompany you here, if you like, as a private guide. Free of charge, of course."

"Oh, I didn't mean… please don't feel obliged to…"

"It's the least I can do to thank you for your help. Besides, I feel much safer when you're with me."

"Well, in that case, I'd love to go with you, Dr. Gold."

"Excellent. I'm glad."

"I think I saw a cafeteria downstairs and since it's almost lunch time… I don't know if you've eaten yet? We could have lunch together, if you like."

He looks rather bewildered by that request and it belatedly dawns on her that it probably isn't the best suggestion to make after his ordeal with the tall woman.

But then Dr. Gold tentatively smiles at her and nods in agreement to her proposal.

"That sounds delightful. I'd love to have lunch with you, Miss French."

"So do I," she beams at him, thrilled that she has encountered something - or rather, some _one_ \- yet more delightful than any of the art in the museum.


	6. Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold unknowingly gives Belle French exactly what she wants for her birthday.

The question why on earth he's doing this becomes overwhelming only right after Gold has already rung the doorbell of the residence of the town's newest inhabitant. Before he can wonder whether he should get away after all, the front door is opened.

"Mr. Gold!" comes the surprised reply.

The landlord can't help but notice that there's no disgust or rejection in her voice and expression - in fact, she somehow seems  _pleased_  that he's here.

"Miss French," he greets her, telling himself that her sudden, bright smile can't be possibly be caused by  _him_. "I wish you a happy birthday."

Along with his words, he hands her the bottle of wine he's spent so much time contemplating in the past few days. All doubt whether he should have approached her like this on the date marked as her birthday on their rental agreement vanishes when she smiles broadly at him.

"Do you want to come in? I actually wanted to invite you, but I figured that you… well. But now that you're here anyway…"

"I.. I'd love to, yes," he says after a few seconds of doubt, when the lovely librarian continues to smile at him.

He doesn't understand why she seems so flustered yet happy… almost as much as he is himself. It's almost as bewildering as the apparent fact that she  _wanted_ to invite him, and the unknown reason why she didn't - until now.

"You're the first and probably only person to remember my birthday," she says softly, glancing at him from beneath her lashes.

The reminder that she fits in almost as poorly in the small rural community as he does himself also encourages him that being here is a good thing.

"Come in," she says, opening the door further and beaming at him as if he isn't the only one between the two of them who longs for more than shy smiles and stuttered conversations... as if he's beautiful and kind like her.

Despite his intentions not to, Gold can't help but eagerly take in the interior of her house now that he gets to see it against all odds as she ushers him inside. He smiles fondly as he beholds the many books which dominate her home.

"Do you want a piece?" She asks, gesturing at the small cake and the single candle in the middle of it.

He means to tell her that he doesn't want to intrude, but she smiles at him with undeniable enthusiasm, prompting him to tentatively smile back at her and accept the offer.

"I'd love to. Thank you."

As they eat the cake in companionable silence, the landlord is pleasantly taken aback by how much he feels himself at home here, how  _easy_  it is to be with her like this.

"This is like a wish come true," she says softly, gesturing at the no longer burning candle on the by now empty plate.

"You wished for someone to accompany you on your birthday," he say thickly, recalling the many times in which he did the same.

"Not exactly," she says, shifting a little closer to him. He can only barely refrain from groaning out loud when her thigh brushes against his while she does so. "I wished for  _you_ to accompany me."

"I'm... I'm very glad we share the same hope," he dares to murmur.

"Yes. But still… I can't help but wish for more than this."

"What do you mean?!"

It becomes difficult to think when she very carefully places her hand on his upper leg, the hopeful way she looks at him as confusing at is it is addicting. This time, he can't keep quiet,  _grunting_  when she begins to caresses his thigh.

"I wish for your company… and not just for this evening."

Before the landlord can ask her again what she means, because she can't possibly say what he pathetically would like her to, she leans into him. He  _shivers_ as she moves right into his personal space like this, her mouth mere inches away from his.

"Unless, of course, you don't want that," Belle whispers, looking at him as if  _he_ is wonderful.

"I do," he breathes, aching for her. "I  _do_ want that _._ "

"Well then, in that case…"

When she tentatively presses her lips against his, Gold is barely able to believe what's happening, but he feels like all his wishes have come true at once.


	7. Sweet as sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold can’t get enough of the products of the new bakery in town… and of the baker herself.

"This was once more exquisite, Miss French," Mr. Gold says, pointedly looking at his by now empty plate rather than at the baker of the carrot cake, who is yet sweeter and intoxicating than any of her wares.

"I'm very glad to hear that," she replies.

He doesn't see her, but he can practically  _feel_ the radiant smile which she for some reason always directs at him when he's simply stating the truth. The lingering hand she places on his shoulder has him quivering regardless.

Before she presents the bill to him, he already hands her the money he wants her to have.

"I'll go get the change," she says, lightly squeezing his shoulder and leaving him shuddering.

"There is no need," he says, like he always does when he offers her payment twice as much as the actual price of the food he consumed.

"You really don't have to do that, Mr. Gold."

"It's my pleasure, Miss French," he dares to say.

The landlord closes his eyes, wishing that she will never let go of him - and at the same time, that she does so right  _now._ For there's no way she doesn't notice how her touch has him trembling in hope of things far beyond her kindness, which is already such a blessing in its own right.

"It's almost closing time, but I'll be here for another hour or so to clean up," she says, stepping away from him. "You're very welcome to stay until then if you like."

"That would be lovely yes, thank you," he replies, thrilled to receive such an invitation again, to spend more time at the place which feels more like home than his actual house.

He retrieves today's paper from his bag, which he had placed there with the hope that something exactly like this would happen. But rather than reading the pages like he intended to, he finds himself following the sweet baker with her eyes as she works, admiring her every movement.

It makes no difference that he reminds himself once more how wrong all of this is. It's bad enough that he shows up twelve times a week at her workplace, no matter how much money he might spend there. He takes his eyes off her, but he can't help but wish that this was their  _home_ rather than her shop when the last other customers leave and it's just the two of them.

Now  _that_  is something he didn't seen coming when Maurice French's daughter returned to the rural town to be closer to her ill father, and opened a bakery and shop on one of his premises.

She brought him a cupcake on their first meeting about her business proposal and one bite was all it took to get him hooked. If only he hadn't grow to like her as a person yet more than her delicious food...

If only he hadn't fallen in love with the kind and beautiful baker.

But there's no denying that his heart beats faster and his breath quickens when he watches her in the reflection of the window, heat shimmering in his veins. Even this vague display of her in the glass is breathtaking. Her stunning eyes are bright and so wonderfully blue even like this... and looking right at him.

Mr. Gold looks away abruptly, his heart sinking when she approaches him rapidly, doubtlessly having realized the extent of his feelings for her.

"I think it's better if you don't come here as often from now on," she says, pulling up a chair to sit down next to him.

"I'm so sorry, Miss French," he says, bile rising in his throat; not necessarily because she has been found out, but because she's doubtlessly upset about the lengths he went to see her twice a day, and  _why._  "You won't ever have to see me again. I'm deeply sorry for any distress I caused you. From now on, you can just leave your rent in an envelope in the mailbox of my shop rather than handing it to me in person."

"What…  _no_! What are you talking about?! I'm not saying I don't want to see you again - quite the opposite!"

"But what…" he brings out, his mind reeling as he tries to make sense of what she's saying.

"All I wanted to say, hopefully without offending you, is that… well, these bakes aren't the healthiest of foods in the world."

He freezes again when she glances at his waistline, which has rather expanded in the months in which he has indeed been coming here absurdly often. At least he finally has actual proof that there can never be anything between them, since she clearly doesn't approve of his appearance.

"Please don't get me wrong, you were rather gaunt when you started coming here, if you don't mind me saying so, and I'm glad that you gained some weight. But there's an awful lot of sugar in all these cakes and pies and I was just thinking… have you considered exercise?"

His hope flared again despite himself when she implied that she doesn't mind his weight gain after all, only for it to harshly disappear once more at her last four words.

"Do not mock me, Miss French."

The words he meant vaguely threatening, if only to defend himself in response to a suggestion which might as well have originated from his ex wife, coming out more like a plea instead.

"Mr. Gold, I'm so sorry," she says, her gaze flying from his bad ankle to his cane and back again. "I didn't mean to… what I'm trying to say… I'm hardly fond of exercise myself, but…"

"But  _you_  at least won't be laughed at when you actually show up at a gym or a pool," he sneers, wishing she would stop reminding him of his failures like this.

" _But_  I do like yoga," she corrects him gently. "Nothing fancy, just in my own living room, following online tutorials. I was thinking, maybe that can also work for you? You don't necessarily have to stand. You can join me, if you like? So we can spend time together without having to be here and burn some calories while we're at it?"

"You'd like to do that with  _me_?!" he brings out, overwhelmed in a very different way than before when it dawns on him what she's actually suggesting.

" _Yes_ ," she simply replies. "If you like to…"

"I do," he breathes. "I'd really like that."

"Me too."

She smiles at him, as if she likes the prospect as much as he does himself, leaving the shriveled remains of his heart swelling.

"In the meantime, I was thinking… I don't want to get ahead of myself, but in case you'd like to do so as well…"

Mr. Gold is convinced they can't possibly do more than doing yoga together, but there's something in her eyes that leads him to wonder, if only for a fraction of a second, whether he somehow isn't the only one who wishes far more than to do yoga in each other's company.

"I was wondering…" she says, the sudden flush on her cheeks increasing the seemingly impossible notion that she longs for more intimate activities as well. "If you want, we can also do…  _other_ things which don't involve eating… or at least, not in the nutritional sense of the word."

Even as he tells himself that Belle can't possibly mean what the sudden flush on her cheeks implies, she glances meaningfully down his body.

"If you like, we could…"

Yet more tempting than any of her bakes, the landlord can't help himself any longer as she shifts closer to him. He rushes forwards as well to press his lips rather desperately against hers.

Before he can second guess himself and remind himself that there's no way that she wants this with  _him_  even if his efforts weren't so clumsy and desperate, she kisses him back with at least as much enthusiasm. All thoughts that this can't possibly be actually happening disappear at the first taste of her, yet more delicious than even the sweetest of her cakes.


	8. Baking off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judge Gold and presenter Belle French finally get to taste what they've been craving all season.

Gold still doesn't quite know how he went from being a solitary chocolatier and food critic to a judge on one of the most popular television shows, but here he is. Before he began the madness of judging hundreds of pies, biscuits and breads of amateurs bakers, it couldn't all end soon enough for as far as he was concerned.

He was in it for the money, his own chocolate shop long bankrupt and his weekly reviews in prestigious papers and magazines not nearly as well-paying as they used to be. But now the winner of the series has been announced and it will be at least ten months until he gets to present another season - if he'll gets asked back at all.

Ten more months without an almost endless supply of admittedly very good bakes, a surprisingly warm and lovely atmosphere and, beyond anything else, the company of Belle French. He was weary of the presenter's enthusiasm and familiarity at first, let alone her puns and innuendos, but now…

Ten days, let alone ten  _months_ , without Belle's smiles, casual touches and kindness might as well be an eternity. After the winner has received her price and he has done his last interview, the feeling of loss threatening to become overwhelming.

Wanting to get away from the cameras and especially Belle herself, Gold goes back into the baking tent, which is blissfully empty now. His relief is short-lived, since the reason for his melancholy mood slips in right after him.

"You know, Mr. Gold, I vividly remember that you promised to teach me to make these delicious chocolates. Don't think you'll get away until then."

"You want me to teach you?" he says, having presumed so far that she was joking when she made the seemingly casual request. " _Now_?!"

"I don't see why not," she says, gesturing at the leftover supplies and ingredients on the bench right in front of them.

He tells himself that he shouldn't, that this might as well be the instant in which he finally accidentally betrays his feeling for her. In that case, she'll have him – rightly so - thrown off the show because of his doubtlessly unwelcome affection and desire for her.

But he  _loves_ her and if this is the last time he can spend with her this year there is no other option than to take this chance with both hands. It's not as if he can refuse Belle anything in the first place. So he nods in agreement to her request, gathering the required ingredients.

He hardly feels like a renowned chocolatier when she stands right next to him and watches his every move, her genuine interest making it only harder to focus. In fact, he might as well never have made any chocolate before in his life when she steps right behind him, resting her hands on his upper arms and her chin on his shoulder to peek from there at his work.

"This smells delicious," she remarks, her words brushing against his neck.

"Indeed," he remarks, unable to mask the hoarseness of his voice when he breathes in her scent, infinitely sweeter and more tempting than the best chocolate he ever made.

There's no way he can continue working now that she has all but plastered herself against his back, caressing his arms with gentle hands. It leaves his own digits shaking as he tries to show her his work, the only thing he might ever impress her with.

"Mr. Gold," she says throatily before brushing her nose against the side of his neck, completely bewildering him - and very much arousing him at the same time. "Do you mind if I do this?"

"No, quite the opposite. In enjoy this  _very_ much. In fact, I fear that I like this more than you're comfortable with."

Well, there it is: for all intends and purposes, the truth is out. Those few words will no doubt be the end of their friendship, if their relationship can actually be described like that. She'll doubtlessly never want to see him again, let alone be in the same television show or baking tent with him.

It's probably only for the best that she finds out sooner rather than later.

But instead of fleeing away from him, she maneuvers herself into the practically non-existing space between him and the bench he was working at... and crashes her mouth against his.

Gold is completely baffled for a long moment, unable to process that  _Belle French_ is kissing him, before instincts he didn't know he had take over.

He slants his lips over hers, desperately seeking her out, groaning when he tastes her for the first time. She tastes yet better than she smells, more delicious and tempting than even the best of chocolate, better than  _anything._

She moans into his mouth and he reacts in kind, wanting to drown in her kisses. He's not aware that he hoisted her onto the bench until he finds himself standing very snugly between her spread legs, her skirt pulled up to her waist.

As they fumble between them to get where both of them so very much want to be, he might as well be drunk on her, all his usual inhibitions and doubts gone. Half mad from her kisses and her hands on his torso alone, he marvels at the way she welcomes and fully accepts both his desire and the way he helplessly expresses it.

Everything happening in some sort of blissful blur, Gold finds himself buried to the hilt inside of her without quite recalling how  _that_ happened. But as pleasure overtakes him further and she urges him to  _move,_ he does so as well as he can.

Surrounded by her slick heat, her words and all of her body spurring him on, he's driven purely by instinct in his movements and the words that come out of his mouth. Far too soon, the ecstasy becomes too much.

A few more irregular thrusts is all it takes for him to submit to the exquisite accumulation of sweet pressure, spending himself inside of her. Gasping her name, he collapses in her arms and lightly rocks his hips into hers again, wanting this to last at least a little while longer.

As the edge of this most delightful haze wears off, it belatedly dawns on him that she doesn't appear to be in a similar state. Her breath quite even, she's quietly caressing his back rather then... well, whatever it is that she might do if she'd feel nearly as good as he does himself right now.

He reluctantly moves out of her embrace just enough to look at her expression and face whatever she's feeling now. But rather than disappointment or anger – or  _regret –_  there's still fire in her eyes.

"Get on your knees?" she suggests, offering her hand to him to help him do so.

He doesn't understands why she requests this... or at least, not until Belle shuffles to the edge of the bench and pulls up her skirt, showing him that her panties appear to have been discarded somewhere along the way.

As if that isn't miraculous enough yet, she bites her lips, her face flushed beautifully, and spreads her legs... right at the level of his face. Groaning as he is greeted by the sight and scent of her like this, he belatedly knows  _exactly_ what she's asking of him.

"Please?" she murmurs as he looks up at her face for confirmation, after he managed to drag his gaze away from this most tempting of views.

Gold dives in without ado, again and again, his senses filled with the most intoxicating scent and taste he has ever known. He laps greedily at her, almost desperately, wanting to experience as much of her as he possibly can now that she has given him this incredible chance.

By the time he recalls that this is for  _her_ sake, not his own, that he should focus on pleasuring her rather than indulging himself – again – at the cost of her enjoyment, he finally notices that she's in fact moaning his name in unmistakable approval.

As if that isn't wonderful enough yet, Belle clutches at his hair to keep his head right where it is, pressed between her trembling thighs. He must be doing  _something_ right, even though he doesn't know what that might be.

As abruptly as it started, she goes still and cries out his name, yet more of her wetness coating his tongue. He continues his ministrations now that he still can, savoring her completion as if it is his own.

Eventually, she stills him with a hand on the side of his neck. Having no clue what might happen next, he's thrilled when Belle slides off the bench and sits down next to him on the floor. It's better yet when she looks at him like she wants to devour him all over again. When their mouths meet once more, their kiss is better than before as well, her taste still on his –  _their –_  lips.

"No matter how much I'd like to continue, we should probably get out of here," she says, reminding him that they're, technically, still in a public place. "We could go somewhere private, though. Together."

"I'd really like that," he says, taking her offered hand again as she stands up and helps him get back on his feet.

"I can't wait to taste you," she whispers to him as they make their way outside, straightening their clothes and hair.

Any chance that they can make it to a private location in a somewhat dignified manner is entirely gone, but Gold wouldn't have it any other way.


	9. Outlandish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Mr. Gold get carried away when reading together.

"So I am to marry  _you_?!"

Belle is distantly aware that her tone is all wrong, that she should sound disgusted and wary rather than excited and hopeful in response to Mr. Gold's proposal of marriage. The one he's reciting - in character - from the copy of  _Outlander_ he is holding, that is.

Not in a million years she expected  _this_ when the landlord offered for the first time to read the dialogue of the Scottish characters in her book to give her a better understanding of what they're supposed to sound like. It was yet more surprising than his frequent invitations to join him in his comfortable and extensive library at his home in the first place.

"Well, I must admit, the idea of grinding your corn does tickle me," he says lowly, the brogue that's almost indiscernible in his usual speech now heavy and low.

His voice does  _things_ to her even as they have mundane conversations - which are unique in their own right, given how private and untouchable he is. But to for all intents and purposes act out her favorite chapters of an explicit romance novel with him is something else entirely.

In usual circumstances, she finds the completely collected landlord more than attractive enough as it is, given that he effortlessly and wordlessly rejects each and every one of her attempts to turn their friendships in a more romantic and physical direction. But to have him say written words of passion out loud in his natural accent, when he's even dressed for the occasion…

Belle almost squeals in arousal as he advances on her. She can barely believe that he's also willing to do all this, to quite literally make stories come to life for her. Now she starts to see the downside of all of this however; to her, he's not menacing or threatening like the character he's embodying when he invades her personal space - the complete opposite.

He may not touch her, he may not look away from her eyes as her chest heaves, but there's a fire in his eyes and a passion in his stance that she couldn't have imagined.

She knows only too well however that none of this is because of  _her_. Given his own background, Mr. Gold probably has a thing for Scottish stories - for the brave and strong-willed heroine she's pretending to be, not the librarian she actually is, reading about adventures rather than experiencing them for herself.

Despite her distraction, Belle hasn't forgotten that this is the point where his character proposes her to marry the young and handsome hero of the story rather than himself. But instead, the landlord  _stares_ at her, every inch an unreadable landlord once more rather than the fictional, ruthless Scottish war-chief whose made-up words he's speaking.

It doesn't help that he's breathing hard and that his kilt looks yet better on him than it usually does as they stand together like this, almost nose to nose. They're closer together than they've ever been before and it takes all of her willpower to remind herself to be  _still_ , not to do anything to give away that she's hopefully in love with him even though he obviously isn't interested in her the same way.

" _Belle_ …"

He never uses her first name, especially not in the middle of their strange and suspended version of reality.

Then there's the spectacular depth and warmth of his eyes, which she has never seen from such a close distance. Not to mention the sound of his voice, filled with almost tangible longing, and the heat of his body.

Belle simply can't hold herself back any longer. She propels herself forward to close the last distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her face against the side of his throat.

Breathing in deeply, she practically whimpers as his warmth and delicious scent wash over her. But before she completely surrenders to this bliss, the landlord tenses in her arms. Belatedly realizing that she has thrown herself at  _Gold_ of all people, she quickly steps away from him.

But rather than mirroring her retreating movements with the rejection she expected, he follows her and, to her complete surprise, kisses her firmly.

Belle has spent considerable time fantasizing about scenarios exactly like this one. She wondered whether he would be tentative or passionate or tender, and how she would react. In reality, it turns out that there's no such choice; all she can do is instinctively kiss him back with the same vigor, coaxing him into opening his mouth.

When their tongues meet, there is no more room for rationality at all. Both of them groaning and gasping, they touch each other wherever they can reach. She greedily pushes herself more closely against him as he finds the small of her back and an upper thigh.

Her spare hand moves to grasp the back of his neck, encouraging him to deepen their kiss. Her legs are shaking with excitement and desire and so do his apparently, for they stumble through the library until they collapse on a lounge chair.

She giggles in delight when he falls down on top of her, breaking their fall with his arms as he ends up between her thighs. Belle is very pleased with that particular development, especially when she can consequently feel just how much he wants this.

But instead of ravishing her like she with all her heart hopes that he will, Mr. Gold abruptly pushes himself off her, staring at her with wide and disbelieving eyes.

"Miss French, my deepest apologies," he brings out, his voice beautifully hoarse. "I shouldn't have…"

"Why not? I  _love_ doing this with you... unless you don't want to."

"I do, so very much. Isn't that obvious - hasn't it been painfully clear all this time?!"

"Not at all," she replies, her mind reeling at the implication that he wants this and thinks that  _she_ doesn't.

"So you never wondered why I was so keen to..."

He gestures at his by now rumpled kilt and the book they lost somewhere along the way.

"To me, it was only obvious that you wouldn't touch and flirt in return," she says, carefully reaching for his face.

"You were flirting?!"

"Well, I  _thought_ I did," she murmurs, feeling rather foolish because of her clearly failed attempts.

"Please don't feel bad, sweetheart. I'm a fool, as you probably discovered. I was very much aware of your attentions, but I couldn't have imagined you actually…"

"What  _did_ you think I was doing?" she asks as he lowers his gaze.

"That you were humoring an old fool."

"It  _definitely_ wasn't that," she breathes, horrified that he would think such a thing. "Besides, you're not old. And if you're foolish... well, then I must be as well, for not figuring any of this out sooner."

To underscore her words, she cradles his cheek in the palm of her hand, smiling happily when he sighs with relief and leans into her touch.

"What  _did_  you think I was doing?" he asks, nuzzling her wrist.

"I thought you were lonely, and that indulging me in my wish to mix fantasy and reality was your way of keeping me interested in spending time with you."

"Well, I  _do_ want to spent time with you, sweetheart. Besides, I quite enjoy mixing fantasy and reality."

"I'm starting to notice that, yes," she replies, finding it rather difficult to speak at all when he begins kissing the surprisingly sensitive flesh of her neck. "But if not that, what  _were_ you doing, indulging me like this if you didn't know it was a way for me to spend time with you?"

"Giving myself to you in the only way I thought you could ever accept me in any… physical capacity."

His tone may be matter of fact, but there's a hint of tears in his eyes when he basically tells her of his conviction that she would only like him like this if he pretended to be someone else.

"Come here," she whispers, pulling him into her arms.

"I  _really_  like you, Belle," he says just as softly as he snuggles against her.

"I really, really like you too," she murmurs, happily cradling him against her.

"And I really,  _really_ like doing all of this," he adds, tentatively kissing the corner of her mouth.

"Me too," she says happily. "So, now that we cleared this up… how about we continue what we just started?"

Rather than replying, Mr. Gold nods fervently and eagerly finds her mouth with his own once more.


	10. Tangled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Gold's encounter with Belle French as they both walk their dog in the park is rather different than usual.

Mr. Gold's heartbeat quickens when he spots Miss French -  _Belle_ , as she insists he calls her - head into the park not all that far behind him. Only an impatient tug on the leash in his hand reminds him why he is here; why he has in fact been here three times a day, seven days a week for the past few months.

"Hey, Mr. Gold," she greets him from the other side of the street as she approaches him, smiling.

"Belle," he murmurs, hoping that she's still too far away to notice that his cheeks are flushing as they always do in her company, even though he has enjoyed quite a bit more of it recently than he ever could have thought.

Really, getting a dog as well after she did so was the best thing he ever did. In addition of having a pet providing some much needed company in his house, he has the chance to run into the so very kind and lovely librarian twenty-one times a week.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she remarks, still smiling as she catches up with him before they head into the park together.

"It is," he breathes, the light in her smile and eyes making the sunshine pale in comparison.

It's probably a good thing that her dog starts wagging its tail enthusiastically, drawing his doubtlessly unwanted attention away. Gold isn't grateful any longer for that however when both pets jump towards one another with great excitement, wholly undeterred by their leashes... and the people holding them.

Said leashes get tangled around the legs of the landlord and the librarian as they try to prevent their dogs from running towards one another so abruptly, pulling the restrictive material around their owners. Before he can stop it, they instinctively step closer towards each other as it tightens further and further around them.

After months – years – of forcing himself not to reach out to her in any way, not even in socially acceptable ones, he stumbles into Belle as the leash pulls his cane out of his hand and simultaneously forces them to basically stand on each others' feet.

She tries to stabilize them, but there's no keeping him upright even if it weren't for her intoxicating scent and warmth surrounding him all of a sudden. His conviction that he will never touch her no longer true, he his horrified to find that their proximity causes her to stumble as well.

Without considering it, he shields her body with his own as they lose their balance and fall to the ground in a graceless tumble of limbs and hair. He gets the wind knocked out of him as she lands on top of him, but he's more than happy to protect her against the brunt of the impact.

Although he's slammed against the ground, he hardly feels any discomfort when he notices that she has placed her hand protectively against the back of his head, preventing actual damage... and, well,  _holding_ him for all intends and purposes.

That's almost immediately forgotten however when Gold subsequently realizes that the woman he's hopelessly in love with is straddling his waist as well, and that her face is mere inches away from his.

"Thank you," she breathes, not seeming to be in any hurry to get up.

"No matter," he whispers, belatedly realizing that his hands are on her thighs; her  _bare_  thighs, as the hem of her skirt must have slid upwards as they fell.

He has always known that she is gentle and light in everything, her physical appearance no exception. But the true extent of her warmth and softness is revealed to him only now that she's on top of him like this. He wishes that this moment will never end – and at the same time, he wishes that it had never happened at all, for he is entirely certain that he can never be content again with the actual scope of their relationship after this.

"Miss French, we'd better..." he all but whimpers, his body starting to react to hers in all the ways it should not.

She doesn't seem to hear him, instead staring at something next to them. He follows her gaze, finding that she's looking at their dogs... or, to be more precise, her dog  _mating_  with his.

"Well, I suppose that explains why they were so excited to see each other," she lightly remarks.

Gold can only stare at the two animals, his own physical state becoming yet more undeniable at the discovery that she doesn't mind that at least one aspect of his life is so... intimately entwined with hers.

It's not as if he wants to rut beastly like their pets are currently doing, but he'd  _very_ much like for something more to happen between the two of them – never mind that he's got no idea whatsoever how to make that happen even if she were open to the idea.

Belle must feel how his body betrays his attraction to her, but she remains right where she is. She looks at him with wide eyes, but they're more curious and excited – almost  _hopeful_ , somehow – than anything else.

"Well, this clarifies a lot," she says, rocking her hips lightly into his.

Even as he stares at her in disbelief and confusion, he can't help but rub himself against her in response as well, barely being able to hold back his groan of pleasure as he does so.

"Mr. Gold, would you like to get together with me some time to... get to know each other better?"

He's too bewildered to verbally reply, but he finds himself nodding very eagerly in response to her suggestion.

"Maybe we can do so right now? I have no plans for the rest of the day... or the night."

"I'd  _love_ that. You are very welcome in my home. Your dog as well, of course. Stay as long as you like."

"Well, if you put it like that, I might never leave," she breathes, still right on top of him.

"I... I wouldn't object to that.  _At all_."

"In that case, let's get up before we make yet more of a... spectacle," she says meaningfully, rubbing herself against him one more time with a wicked smile on her beautiful face.

With some assistance from her, both to get him back on his feet and to shield his... current condition from the people staring at them, they manage to stand up again eventually. Barely aware of the gathering crowd around them, Gold eagerly accepts her unspoken invitation to lean on her rather than the cane she hands back to him.

Barely able to believe his luck and basking in her presence right at his side, the landlord follows Belle to his home – just like their two dogs, who innocently trail behind them on their own accord.


	11. Victories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coach French wins the championship, but Coach Gold's chagrin has nothing to do with his team's loss.

Coach Belle French feels like she's floating, her body – or even the dressing room itself - too small to contain her sheer elation now that she has led her team to the trophy. The fact that said team just dunked her in the shower doesn't make her any feel less giddy and flushed.

When she enters the corridor to recover somewhat from the chaos of the won final, water still dripping down her clothes and hair, she notices Coach Gold leaning against the wall near the dressing room of his own team, his cane loose in his hand. He is arguably the most successful coach ever... and she  _defeated_ him, although everyone said she never would.

Oh yes, he is the stuff of legends... and he's witty and well-dressed and infuriatingly  _handsome_ _–_  and he's the coldest and rudest person she's ever met, which is quite saying something in a field still dominated by men.

"Mr. Gold," she says sharply, irked yet more that he doesn't look her way even when she none too quietly enters the space which he previously occupied only by himself.

"Coach French," he says coolly, his eyes not on her even as he finally turns his head in her general direction.

Emboldened by the victory of her team – indeed, by  _her_ victory over him – Belle angrily makes her way towards him, her heels clicking loudly on the floor. He hasn't spoken to her after the match, hasn't offered his congratulations or even shook her hand.

Coach Gold doesn't acknowledge her when she's all but marching towards him, not even when he must realize that she's all but on a collision course with him... and she still doesn't stop.

Only when she rushes straight into his personal space, her arm purposefully stretched towards him, he turns to face her – but he still doesn't look at her.

"What are you doing?!" he snarls, moving backwards as if he has been burned by her nearness.

"Trying to have an actual conversation with the most ill mannered person I've ever met."

"Congratulations, Coach French," he says dully, lowering his gaze and moving to slip around her. "I'll leave you to enjoy your well-deserved victory."

"Oh no you don't," she breathes, impulsively yanking at his arm until he's facing her again.

"What do you  _want_?"

She assumed his tone to be threatening, but as his words linger heavily between them, she finds that it's something else entirely. Belle also belatedly realizes that she has ended up much closer to him than she intended, that her hand is still on his arm, surprisingly warm even through his various layers of clothing.

"I want you to acknowledge me like a person, like a colleague."

"No, you don't," he mutters harshly.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she brings out in response to yet more of his rudeness.

"You don't want to know, Coach French," he growls, his low words brushing against her skin. "You really don't want to know."

Despite his tone, despite the way he is surely going to react now that she's practically forehead to forehead with him, anger radiating almost tangibly off her, she strangely finds that he's not intimidating... quite the opposite.

"Why can't you just  _talk_ to me?" she cries out, right when he tries to step away from her again.

Before she can consider the consequences of her actions, she tightens her hold on his arm and moves to block his exit, intending to keep him in place until he has explained to her why he treats her with such contempt. But he quickly steps forward at the same time, prompting them to collide.

There's a blur of movement and then they're stumbling together, instinctively reaching out for each other to keep their balance and remain on their feet. For a long second, she fears that they'll fall to the floor together, but then they find some much needed stability after all.

Her world spins on its axis only more however when she finds herself leaning safely against the wall behind her. Coach Gold is pressing up against her, his four limbs braced around hers, bodily preventing both of them from stumbling after all.

She can feel all of him... especially the hardness pressing against her thigh.

" _What?!_ " she exclaims, trying to reconcile the distant, impolite behavior he usually expresses towards her with his desire she is feeling now.

"You are by far the most wonderful woman I've ever met, your blouse is currently  _transparent_  and you're far, far closer to me than you ever should have been," he rasps, taking some of his weight off her but not appearing to have the strength – or the will – to move completely away from her. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for all of this."

"So  _this_ is why you have been so bad-mannered towards me?!"

"Of course. I  _knew_ that even a single conversation would lead to... to  _this_ ," he cries out, sounding pained. "What else did you think?!"

"Because you hate me?" she asks in return, voicing the assumption she has held until now.

"Never that," he murmurs softly. "It was never that."

"I... I thought you were upset because I won the final instead of you," she breathes, his increased nearness making it yet more difficult to take in what his body and voice alike are telling her.

"Quite the contrary, Coach French. I'm thrilled that the most deserving team and the best coach won the competition."

"But why are you sorry then for any of this?" she asks, gesturing at where their bodies are still touching.

She smiles tentatively at him as it begins to dawn on her that he appears to like her as much as she likes him after all. Even if it weren't for the highly distractive feeling of his arousal, she doesn't understand why he appears to be so displeased by his desire for her.

"I've got a lot to be sorry for."

He gestures at his hurt ankle, graying hair and expanding middle with a loathing that beaks her heart. As if this reminder of his perceived unattractiveness finally gives him the strength to walk away, he begins to do exactly that.

Belle is having none of that.

Prepared for anything but his wholly undeserved self-depreciation, she can't resist the urge to practically throw herself into his arms. He catches her effortlessly, holding her tightly as he presses his face against the side of her neck.

"You're the most infuriating, awe-inspiring and  _gorgeous_ man I ever met," she exclaims, her lust-addled mind struggling to find a way to persuade him of her desire without tearing off his clothes right here and now.

But when he looks her in the eyes there's a sudden fire in his gaze and he slants his mouth over hers without further encouragement. He kisses her with a passion she hadn't expected from anyone, let alone a usually utterly stoic and composed man.

Moaning and practically clawing at his shoulders for purchase as she presses herself against him as closely as she can, Belle finally unleashes the want she has kept bottled up inside of herself all this time.

"If this is what losing feels like, I never want to win again," he murmurs against her lips when they come up for air at last.

"How about we both  _win_ from now on, regardless of the results on the field?"

"I'd be the happiest man on earth."

"And how about we... celebrate tonight?" she asks, meaningfully glancing down his body "Privately?"

"I'd still be the happiest man on earth," he replies hoarsely, "but I'm hardly a young man and you feel so very, very good. If you kiss me like that once more..."

"Don't worry," Belle grins at him, the desire written all over his face prompting her to drag him with her to find a private spot. "There's no reason why we can't have multiple victories."


End file.
